


but for you, this place is shame

by itisjosh



Series: onlypain [53]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghost Wilbur Soot-Centric, Grief/Mourning, Hatred, Memory Loss, Past Character Death, Post-War, Regret, Songfic, Wilbur Soot-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29513193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh
Summary: "Why do you hate this place so much?" Ghostbur asks. "Why do you hate L'manberg? Why are you so ashamed of being here?""It's an extension of myself." Wilbur says suddenly."What does that mean?" Ghostbur asks. "An extension of yourself? But you hate L'manberg."Wilbur smiles at him, cold and callously. "I think you understand."(or, wilbur and his ghost talk)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Ghostbur
Series: onlypain [53]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027711
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	but for you, this place is shame

L'manberg is beautiful. 

Lanterns float in the sky, soaring past them both. Ghostbur watches as they glow in the dim light, sunlight passing through the paper lanterns. It's gorgeous, everything about L'manberg is so perfect, so beautiful. It's safe and warm, and it makes him feel like he's able to breathe again. Ghostbur leans back on his heels even though he really doesn't have to stand, crossing his arms against his chest with a soft smile. L'manberg feels like home, it feels like safety. It feels like something that Ghostbur remembers fondly, filled with precious memories. Everything about L'manberg makes him feel...safe. Like he's finally okay, like he doesn't have to be scared anymore. Ghostbur doesn't really remember much of his time here, not recently, at least. 

There are a lot of things that he doesn't actually remember, but he's trying his best to bridge the gaps in his mind. He can connect names to faces a little better now, he knows of a few different places, like L'manberg and the community house. There are talks of a place called the prison, but he's never been there before, nor does he remember it being built when he was alive. Ghostbur doesn't mind not remembering - it isn't that big of a deal to him. As much as he would like to remember, it isn't nearly as important as it used to be. He smiles, tilting his head back a little, feeling the wind ruffle his hair, breezing past his face. It's going to be winter soon, and Ghostbur is admittedly nervous for that. Snow and rain are both things that he can't really be in for long periods of time, if at all, and once it turns winter, he's afraid that he won't be able to leave his house anytime soon. 

Ghostbur looks to the left of him, staring at the other man by his side. He's leaned up against a broken bit of rubble, his arms crossed firmly against his chest, his eyes narrowed. Everything about him is sharp and harsh and angry, filled with so much regret and grief and rage that it's unbelievable. Ghostbur can feel all of it, he can feel all the pain that the man, _himself_ , harbours. Though, he thinks as he watches the other man, they really aren't the same. Ghostbur remembers nothing, he's forgiven the world and everyone in it. He stopped being angry a long time ago, he can't remember the last time he was angry. But this man, this man is always angry. His eyes are always filled with fury and hatred and shame, and Ghostbur doesn't know why. He can assume, he can assume certain things about this man, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to get it wrong. 

Wilbur says nothing, because Wilbur always says nothing. He is cold and angry and untouchable, and he is sharp, both inside and out. He guards his heart and his mind with his entire life, and Ghostbur has never been able to get close enough to see what's happened to him. Wilbur was someone who he used to be. Wilbur is him. Ghostbur looks at him, though, and he sees nothing of himself inside of that man. Wilbur is everything that he isn't, and Ghostbur doesn't understand how people can call them the same man. Admittedly, in some ways, they are. Very technically, Ghostbur is Wilbur's spirit, his ghost. But in so many ways, they are nothing alike. They aren't the same at all, they are completely different people with entirely different ideals and emotions and ways of presenting those emotions. 

Ghostbur is softer than he thinks he'd like to be. He's not rough around the edges, he's tired and kind. He tries his best to be welcoming to everyone, he tries his best to accept that some people are always going to hate him for what this man did. Ghostbur was bitter about it at first, he thinks. He was upset that people hated him, even though _he_ never did anything wrong. That was all Wilbur, they aren't the same person. Ghostbur isn't Wilbur, he's someone else. Ghostbur is a new man, a man without his memories, a man with a new beginning. A man who has learnt how to forgive instead of how to hate.

Wilbur is everything that Ghostbur is not. He's angry and sharp, he's jagged and harsh. He very rarely speaks, but when he does, all of his words are angry and bitter, laced with venom and poison that could kill even the strongest snake. His words are spat out, filled with hatred. Wilbur looks at people with disdain and disgust, his eyes are constantly narrowed, his face is always pulled in a tight, constant scowl. He always looks exhausted and angry, and Ghostbur thinks that those two things go hand in hand. It must be so exhausting to be so angry all the time, it has to be tiring. Their opinions are different from each other in such startling ways, and Ghostbur wonders if he shared the same ideals as Wilbur does. 

L'manberg is a centre of constant debate. Wilbur hates this place, he wants to burn it to the ground, he wants to blow it up. Every time he looks at it, he's filled with hatred, Ghostbur can see it in his eyes. He's ashamed of L'manberg, he hates this place. Ghostbur thinks of it as home. L'manberg is his home, it's perfect with all of its flaws, and the people here are the exact same. L'manberg is shame to Wilbur, whereas it's home to Ghostbur. L'manberg is safety, it's warm and peaceful and filled with people who he thinks that he loves. But to Wilbur, there's nothing safe here. It's cold and harsh and unforgiving, and Ghostbur can't figure out why. Wilbur looks at this place with such shame and anger in his features, it makes Ghostbur's chest hurt. It makes his eyes water, it makes his lungs burn. 

When Wilbur is with him, Ghostbur tastes ash in the back of his throat. He feels wind rushing through his lungs, he feels a sharp pain in his gut. He feels like he wants to double over and scream and cry, he feels like he's dying, and he doesn't understand why. Wilbur never looks like he feels that. Wilbur is at peace, he feels nothing, he's not a ghost nor a man, he's not alive, nor is he dead. He's simply there, and Ghostbur doesn't know how he did it. Ghostbur doesn't know why Wilbur is here or why he can't leave, and it seems like Wilbur doesn't know, either. Everything is so odd, everything is uncertain and weird, and Ghostbur wishes that he could understand more about his life and L'manberg. He wishes he could understand Wilbur. 

"Why do you hate this place so much?" Ghostbur asks, his voice raspy. Wilbur sounds vaguely like him, although his voice is strong and unwavering, filled with grief and rage and annoyance and coldness. "Why do you hate L'manberg? Why are you so ashamed of being here?" 

Wilbur, per usual, says nothing. He narrows his eyes sharply at Ghostbur instead of responding, and Ghostbur has to tear his gaze away from the man's. Wilbur has always won their staring contests. "It's an extension of myself." He says suddenly, leveling Ghostbur with a glare that could kill even the strongest warrior. He says nothing else, his voice dying off just as quickly as it was revived.

"What does that mean?" Ghostbur asks, frowning at the man in front of him. "An extension of yourself?" He tilts his head to the side, feeling his face form into a scowl. The words Wilbur speaks don't make sense. "But you hate L'manberg." 

Wilbur smiles at him, cold and callously. "I think you understand." 

Ghostbur blinks, standing a little taller. "But that.." he shakes his head, trailing off. "Why?" Wilbur's smile grows a little, the frost it holds melting a bit. His eyes are half-lidded and tired, like they always are. Wilbur always looks exhausted, he looks so unbelievably tired and hurt and angry. "You hate yourself?" Ghostbur asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's why? That's why you hate this place, that's why you hate L'manberg? Because it's like you, and you hate yourself? Is that it?" 

"There you go," Wilbur beams at him, frigid and untouchable. Unreachable. "L'manberg," he starts, motioning out to the town of happy people and happy memories, "is my greatest mistake. Even when I tried to solve it, even when I tried to fix it, everyone just decided to make the exact same mistake as I did," Wilbur laughs, leaning back on his heels. He walks forwards, clamping a hand down on Ghostbur's shoulder. Ghostbur pretends like he doesn't shiver, he pretends like Wilbur's touch doesn't make him want to flinch and draw back. "This place is shame," Wilbur tells him, voice soft. "This place is everything that I am, and for that, I hate it." 

"You should be proud of it," Ghostbur murmurs. "Of yourself. You created a nation full of people who loved you and the nation itself. Why do you hate so much, Wilbur? Have you forgotten how to love?" He feels his heart thud in his chest, beating unremarkably fast. "This place, it feels like hope. It feels like home. L'manberg is so perfect, isn't it? It's beautiful. It's gorgeous." 

Wilbur scoffs, looking away from him. He looks out at L'manberg, and Ghostbur follows his gaze. He's looking at a house in the distance, one that's decorated with flowers on the outside, a bridge connecting it down to the main part of L'manberg. If he thinks hard enough, Ghostbur thinks that it might be Phil's house, though he isn't entirely sure. "It's gorgeous on the surface," Wilbur tells him, not even bothering to look at him. Ghostbur is both thankful for that and hurt by it. "But on the inside, it's bitter and rotten. It's fucking disgusting," he sneers. "All of it, it's all disgusting. Druxy, I believe is the word for it," Wilbur pauses, narrowing his eyes. "It's gorgeous on the outside, yet hollow and rotted in the inside. No place in this entire world is worse than L'manberg." 

"It doesn't have to be like that, does it?" Ghostbur asks him. "It's not rotten, Wilbur. It's full of hope. This place is good, it's so good. Everyone you love, everyone _we_ love, they're in these homes. L'manberg is a place of hope and a place of goodness, Wilbur. It's perfect. Everything is perfect here. It doesn't have to be perfect in your eyes, but in mine.." Ghostbur smiles, watching as the paper lights glow with warm sunlight. "This place is home. This place is safe and good, this place is hope. Everything here is hopeful and good and lovely. This place feels like love. Everyone here is so important to everyone else, and we're all.." he trails off, waving a hand. "We're all hopeful, aren't we? We've finally won." 

"We've never won," Wilbur snorts, tossing his head. "Winning isn't something that any of us are capable of doing. L'manberg has never been free, and it never will be free. You," Wilbur turns to stare at him, curling his lip up in disgust. Ghostbur doesn't flinch away from his gaze or from his grip, though he wishes that he could. "You are the outside of L'manberg, aren't you? You represent change and good-willed nature. But," Wilbur smiles, raising his hand to his chest. "On the inside, there's me. You look past the outside, the exterior, you look past the stupid yellow jumper and pale grey skin, and you find _me_. I am L'manberg, I always have been, I always will be. L'manberg took an entire part of me, and it made itself out of that part. I let it, I encouraged it. This place is mine, and mine alone. I'm the interior of this hellhole, and I always, always will be. That's why I hate it. That's why I'll always hate it." 

Ghostbur looks away, he feels his chest tighten with hurt and grief. "You shouldn't. This place is so much more than you make it out to be, Wilbur. You weren't always like this, were you? We weren't. You used to be good." 

"Good," Wilbur smiles, "is a word used to describe heroes and martyrs. I was neither."

"Good is a word to describe brothers and fathers and friends," Ghostbur counters. "Good is a word used to describe _people_ , and you're a person. You're a good person. You're one of the bests."

"I'm not," Wilbur laughs, shaking his head. "I'm not. I'm one of the worst people I think I've ever had the displeasure to meet. You want a good person?" Wilbur stares at him, his eyes burning and filled with anger and hurt and bitterness. "A good person is Tommy. A good person is Tubbo. A good person is Phil, a good person is Technoblade. Good people don't hurt others. Good people don't blow up their nations to solve their problems. Good people don't create those problems in the first place. Good people," he looks away, "are people who deserve better. No one is good because they want to be. They're good because the world gave them nothing but hurt, and in return, they chose to take that hurt and turn it into something new, something _better_. I took that hurt, and I tightened it into my fists until it became me." 

Ghostbur looks away. He looks back out at L'manberg, he stares at the paper lanterns, warm with the glow of the rising sun.

"This place is home," he says, simply. "This place is home."

Wilbur smiles. "This place is shame." And then he falls silent, moving away from Ghostbur. He leans back on the peace of rubble where he normally does, tilting his head back as he stares up at the sky. Ghostbur can't read his mind, he can't read the emotions on his face, and he doesn't really try. Wilbur wouldn't want him to, anyways. 

He moves forwards away from his place on the hill, wandering down to the steps of L'manberg. Wilbur follows behind him, but not because he wants to. Wilbur might hate L'manberg, but he hates being alone even more. Ghostbur is the only one who can see him, the only one who can talk to him, so it isn't like the man has much of a choice other than to follow him wherever he goes. Ghostbur steps onto the bridges and pathways of L'manberg and smiles, feeling his chest warm with pride and safety and hope. 

This place will always be his home. 

This place will alway be shame to Wilbur. That's alright, Ghostbur thinks. They don't ever have to share the same opinions about this place. But somewhere deep inside of his chest, Ghostbur can't help but feel like Wilbur doesn't truly believe that L'manberg is shame. He's just too afraid to admit it, he's afraid to admit that it's home, and Ghostbur understands that far better than he would like to. 

Ghostbur smiles, breathing out, feeling his shoulders slouch. He hears Wilbur shuffle on his feet from behind him, he can feel the hatred and anger washing off of him in waves, and even though Ghostbur feels his happiness being tainted by shame and hatred, he still smiles. In L'manberg, it's impossible for him not to. Maybe one day, he thinks to himself, Wilbur will understand that.

But until then, Ghostbur thinks, it's good to be home. 


End file.
